


The Tides That Change

by orphan_account



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Implied or Off-stage Rape/Non-con, M/M, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Still cuddly though, at some point that is
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-13
Updated: 2013-06-15
Packaged: 2017-11-25 07:16:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 8
Words: 9,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/636452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's funny how things that have been drilled into your head, can be forgotten and change a persons whole life. Strange how hard it is to forgive yourself for forgetting it too, but how it can help you find out who your real family is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Fall Apart

**Author's Note:**

> This has been written on my iPhone, so if there is anything wrong just let me know. Also I'm in need of a beta that can kick my ass into staying motivated and help me be a better grammar checker.

Stile wakes up in levels feeling the various aches and stinging pains all over his body. They don't make sense to his muggy muddled mind. The last thing he remembers is a blonde hair, blue eyed Adonis with two tiny spikes sticking out of his lower lip. He remembers the way the silver glinted in the club lights, and the tiny smirk that appeared for the briefest of seconds when he handed over the tequila sunrise Stiles had asked for. 

Slowly and carefully Stiles stands up, trying and failing to ignore the sticky wetness in his jeans and the throbbing pain in muscles he didn't even know he had. Shaking his head he walks on jelly legs out of the alley, stumbling over boxes and wet clumps of old news papers. He needs to find his jeep, needs to know where he is, needs to get home and take a shower so he can slowly fall apart. 

'It's my fault this happened,' he thinks silently. It's the number one rule, don't take an unopened drink from somebody. He's the sheriffs son, he's gone to countless seminars with his father, seen files of cold cases with nothing but dead ends, and pictures of girls, women, and the occasional men with dead eyes, mottled bruises, and he did the one thing his father had told him to never do. He took a drink he didn't make, that wasn't sealed, from a person he didn't know at a club. 

Stiles clings to he brick wall, fingers digging into the course brick and catching on jagged broken nail lines. He stumbles to the parking garage, it's two buildings over, and finds his Jeep. Barely. It's on auto pilot that he drives home, fuzzy edges and slow reaction times. 

His fathers cruiser is in the driveway. It's a Saturday night, his fathers night shift, and he's home. Stiles stumbles out of the Jeep and staggers to the house, blindly fits the key into the dead bolt, and falls into the entry way. He's sure the hiss of pain is what alerts his father to something amiss. 

The rest of the night passes in phases, his dad walking into the entryway, his dad screaming, his dad taking him to the hospital. Camera flashes. Papery thin hospital gowns. Fingers prodding in places where he didn't want them. The sharp pinch of blood being drawn. Finally the grounding feel of his had wrapped in his dads much larger hand, and soft cool drops of liquid on his own hand. As he's drifting off to a restless sleep, he belatedly realizes his dads crying. 

"S'my f'lt.' Is all he remembers slurring before he's out. He thinks he hears a aching sob from his dad, but he can't be sure. 

Stiles wakes up to the quiet whispering in the corner of the room, the sun is glaring in his eyes and all he wants is his room. His bed. He coughs weakly and rubs at his eyes, making contact with the tender bruise, when he glimpsed at it a bit earlier it was dark purple and framed his eye like a macabre mask. He whimpers lightly, flashes of him struggling and a sharp sudden contact with his face. 

"Hey buddy," his dad whispers sitting down beside him, "you feeling a bit better?" He asks, reaches up like he wants to run his hand over Stiles head, but stops short. 

"I wanna go home," he whines. 

"Okay baby, we'll go, but Rich has to take a statement first." His dad is speaking gently, looks over to one of his deputies, who is standing in the corner. He looks uncomfortable and awkward. 

"Why can't you do it?" He asks biting at his lip, even though he already knows why. Too much personal interest in the case. 

"You know why, buddy." This time his dad does run his hand over Stiles's head, Stiles hates the way he flinches back. He hates the way his dads face crumples even more. It hurt almost as much as his aching body and mind. 

Rich walks over to the bed side, clipboard in his hand, and nods at his dad. John stands and tucks his hand into his pockets awkwardly. 

"We agreed that it would be best that I wait in the hall for this." His dad tells him, heading to the door, Stiles nods in relief. With a final nod Rich sits down and his dad exits the room. 

Stiles tells Rich about going to Jungle, about how he parked his Jeep in the garage across the street, and waited in line. He just wanted to dance, maybe make out with someone, and go home. Tells him about the guy with blonde hair and blue eyes, and the pierced lip, how he had two spikes through it, and how they danced, how close they were. Tells him about how he stupidly took that drink when it was offered. Then he tells him that he woke up in that alleyway, sore in places that weren't supposed to be sore and how he couldn't remember anything. Tells him that he pulled himself up and drug himself to his Jeep and drove home. Tells him about how fuzzy everything was and how muggy his brain was. Still is. 

Rich writes it all down and when he's done, gets up and leaves without a word. His dad comes in the second the door opens and takes his seat by Stiles bed again. 

"I'm so sorry dad," Stiles whispers brokenly, "I'm sorry I'm putting you through this." His dads face turns angry so fast, If Stiles had blinked he would have missed it. 

"This is not your fault, I don't ever want to ever hear you say that again. This falls into the hands of that man who took advantage of you, this is not your fault." He sounds so enraged that Stiles flinches back. 

"But I knew better than to take that stupid drink, it's been drilled into my head since I was nine years old. I knew better! You don't take open drinks from strangers, you don't leave your drink unattended, if you do bad things could happen!" Stiles is yelling at the end, chest heaving, ribs shooting sharp pains across his torso. 

"Sometimes we trust the wrong people, but this is not your fault, this will never be your fault baby boy." John is holding his hand like it's made of glass, and is speaking softly and intently trying to drill his message in. 

Stiles nods to placate him, and asks once again to go home. This time they do, and when they get there Stiles takes an hour long shower and curls up in his bed numb. He stays there for three days.


	2. If It Means a Lot to You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a lot of Stiles beating himself up in this, it's very victim blaming on his part, because that is how he feels at the moment, but he'll get that knocked out of his head soon! Also, I am the worst at editing so just tell me if there is something wrong and I'll fix it, and if you're interested in being a beta let me know !

John is a patient man, he has to be in his line of work and having a son that can't sit still for five seconds at best, and will talk circles until he finally gets to the point he wants to make, but now, now is not the time to try and test John Stilinski's patience. Not when he has a child who won't come out of his room, or eat the food that he's been trying to get to eat for the past three days. A child who spends most of the night sobbing into his pillow when he must think that John is asleep, and spends the other hours just laying there, staring into space. Sometimes, he'll sleep, but then the dreams catch him and it's all over. John has woken up from a light sleep every night since it happened, to horrific shrieks of Stiles desperately screaming stop. It breaks his heart every time.

John should have been able to save his child from this fate, should have been able to protect his only son from this pain, but he couldn't. He couldn't solve the cases of the men that came into the station, couldn't solve the cases of the women that also came in, each gender looking washed out and flinching at the sound of rustling paper. He never wanted Stiles to feel like that, because he should be able to protect Stiles from all the hurt in the world. Instead he can only sit by helplessly as a flyer that a sketch artist had drawn up is passed out to every bar and club in town, and wait until the son of a bitch that thought it was okay to touch his son in a way he didn't want showed up to one.

On the fourth day, John opens the door and tells Stiles that it's time to get out of bed, he needs a shower and he needs to eat. Stiles spends another hour in the shower, and John knows for a fact that the hot water will only last for twenty-five minutes on a good day. Stiles comes down the stairs in an oversized sweatshirt and sweat pants. His bruises stand out stark against his pale skin, his lip is split and two of his fingers are wrapped in a splint, and he has a mild limp. John's heart breaks a little more, and he's not sure how much more he can take before it completely shatters at this point.

Stiles sits at the table and waits, knows that soon something will be sat in front of him and he'll be expected to eat. Just like when he'd started to take his Adderall, and he'd never wanted to eat because he didn't have an appetite anymore. Back then his dad would sit him at a table after a day of not eating and place dry toast and lukewarm tea in front of him. Then he would watch until all the food and tea were gone. 

Just like the old days a slice of dry wheat toast is sat in front of him, cut into eight tiny triangles, and a dark mug of only slightly warm tea. He eats slowly, each bite tasting like card board and sliding down his throat like saw dust, the tea doesn’t help. 

“The school called, they wanted to know when you'd be back. Just remember you do have an open ended doctors excuse.” The sheriff breaches the topic as gently as possible. Stiles freezes, he hasn't even thought of school, and how he needs to keep up his grades, needs to get a scholarship so he can get out of this town.

“I'll go back tomorrow.” Stiles says, looking down at his plate, ignoring his bandaged hand. He needs something else to focus on anyways. He can't sit in his room anymore replaying the snippits of the night that he does remember, the flashes of light, the flashes of pain, and the flashes of how the dirty concrete and asphalt felt under his skin and back. If he sits in the house for one more day he's going to tear at the little hair he has.

\---

Tuesday dawns bright and early, and Stiles blearily rolls out of bed, pain sparks along his torso from his bruised ribs, he showers, and get dressed. Finishes getting ready, and leaves. He sits in the parking lot for half an hour before he gets the nerves to get out of the Jeep. It takes five for him to be able to walk into the school. He's still early, by an hour, and he takes his time walking to his locker and then to his first class. It's chemistry, and he's not looking forward to the ripping that Harris will most likely give him. They'll be about how he was so stupid he went and got himself raped at a gay club, how he was so stupid to trust a drink that someone else had given him, and he'd gotten what he deserved. And Stiles wouldn't disagree with him, because he'd be right.

Harris walks into the room ten minutes after Stiles, a mug of steaming coffee in one had, and a stack of papers in the other. He looks surprised to see Stiles, but goes about making seven stacks of papers, and shuffling through a couple folders. They ignore each other, and Stiles tries to ignore the panic that is seeping through his veins. He doesn't even know why he's panicking, Harris is across the room. 

He's staring down at the lightly specked surface of his work station, looking at the smudged pencil lines from bored students, when a tan manila folder is placed in front of him. The element of surprise is instantaneous, Stiles is out of his chair and backed against the wall in seconds. He's breathing heavy, and shaking his head. Harris holds his hands up in a surrender gesture, and back away slowly. He keeps his hands up the entire time, and opens his mouth to speak.

“It's just your make up work for Friday and Monday, we did a lab, but you can't make that up, so you just have to write an essay about how the lab theory, and why the reactions work the way they do. It's explained in the handouts in the folder.” Harris tells him calmly, “Now, I'm going to go back to my desk and I'm going to start putting today's lesson plans on the board. You can stay there until you feel safe enough to go back to your station.” Harris is talking softly, and retreating slowly. 

When he's back at the board, Stiles slowly makes his way back to his station. There is still half an hour until class begins. Stiles opens the folder and glances at the papers inside. It's the lap papers from the lab diagramming the procedure. It's simple, why fire changes colors with the presence of different gasses and metals, and why the colors attach themselves to the gas or metal.

It's not long until the hallways start to slowly fill, the buzzing sound of talking starts to filter into the classroom, getting closer and closer, until they start to pile into the room. There's five minutes until the bell rings, and chairs and station are starting to fill up. Stills is tapping his foot on the floor, and picking at the hemline of his shirt. 

Scott and Allison are a couple of the last people in, and Scott visibly flinches when he see's Stiles. Allison raises her hand to her mouth and pulls in a shaking breath. Scott and her make their way to his area slowly.

“What happened Stiles?” He asks, kneeling in front of him. Stiles flinches away, he's known Scott for years, but like with his dad, he's utterly panicked and wants to get away from him. It makes no sense to Stiles why he's acting like this, he'd practically asked for what he got anyway, with his stupid decision. He had no right to be jumpy.

“I don't want to talk about it, please just go sit down,” He whispers, looking down at the work station. Scott pauses for a minute, and reluctantly walks to his own station, that he shares with Allison, across the room. Allison looks at him, and gently pats his hand. 

Danny is the last person to file into class, Jackson only slightly ahead of him, they claim their seats at their separate stations, Jackson beside Stiles, and Danny in front of him.

Stiles clinches his good hand around the mechanical pencil he'd dug out of his bag when the first of the students filtered into the room. Deep breaths, he can do this. Danny turns to talk to Jackson, and his eyes widen when he takes in Stiles' face. Stiles looks down, hand clinching even tighter around the pencil. It snaps. So does Stiles nervous disposition, and he grabs his bag and runs out of the room. Making it to his Jeep, Stiles collapses into the drivers seat, breathing short and fast gasps, his fingers and toes start to buzz and go numb, and his head starts to feel light and airy, but he feels like he can't breath, so he's gasping and trying. It hurts too. 

With shaking fingers Stiles digs his phone out of his pocket, presses 'one' and waits until he can hear the line click into an active call. It rings twice and then he can hear his dads steady voice.

“Hey buddy, are you okay?” He asks, voice light, but Stiles can hear the concern in it.

“No.” He gasps. He hears a clattering sound and the slamming of a door. 

“I'm coming to get you, where are you?” His dad asks, and that is the slamming of a car door, and the sound of an engine starting. The bluetooth picks up and his dad sounds further away.

“Jeep, parking lot. School” He gasps out, head resting on the steering wheel. He hears his dad kick up the sirens, and his calm chatter starts to sooth his panic away. Maybe he wasn't ready to face his classmates yet after all, is all he thinks after his dad drives him home in the cruiser, and settles him on the couch with two pillows, and the fluffy down comforter that still smells like his mom.


	3. Someday, Somehow

It's a quarter after four when the doorbell rings, just enough time for school to let out and to get to Stiles house. His dad has left, he was needed back at the station for some paperwork, and a consultation with the sheriff one county over, so it's just Stiles. He contemplates ignoring it, but when it dings continuously for the next thirty seconds, he gingerly throws the comforter off and heads for the door. 

“Go away!” He calls through the door, standing off to the side of the frame. He's leaning on it, head resting on the frame. His head is sleep foggy and he just wants to get back to the warmth of the blanket, it was the first time that he hadn't had a nightmare that he couldn't pull himself out of. 

“I just want to make sure you're okay!” Scott's voice calls through the door, he sounds pained, and a little unsure.

“Please just go, I can't right now.” Stiles pleads, squeezing his eyes shut.

 

“Something bad happened didn't it?” Scott asks, “That's why my mom told me not to call you or come over until you made the first move?” Scott asks, Stiles can see the shadow over his face on the tinted window.

“Yes, now please go, just leave the books on the chair, but please go.” Stiles has moved to a sitting position, curled in on himself in a corner of the room. He's leaning his face into his knees and trying not to start hyperventilating. It takes another twenty minutes of pleading before Stiles hears Scott's heavy footsteps leading away from the front door and off the porch.

By the time that his dad gets home hours later, Stiles has moved from the curled up position by the door to the kitchen. He's making a jalapeno popper quiche and reading up on how to make cream puffs, and there is a tray of cooling homemade cheese it's on the counter. The rest of the house is spotless. 

“These were on the porch, kiddo.” His dad tells him, slowly walking into the room and setting the stack of books and a folder of paper on the table. Thankfully not mentioning the stress baking that is happening. By the end of the night there are cupcakes, bread, and mini apple pies.

Stiles finishes his homework, for the end of last week and all of this week, at three in the morning and contemplates on writing random papers to sell to the local college students. He writes three papers on quantum physics and calls it a night. 

The week passes by slowly and soon Stiles can't avoid going to the grocery store anymore, he's out of chicken, rice, and bacon. He needs them for the casserole he'd found while channeling his google fu. So with his anti-anxiety medicine in one hand, and his dads grocery fund card in the other, he makes his way to the Jeep. He spends ten minutes in the driveway breathing deeply before he works up the courage to make it out of the driveway and into the streets. 

When he finally makes it, he's glad to note that there are hardly any cars in the parking lot. Snagging a spot close to the front doors, stiles looks at the orange bottle in the cup holder, and after debating for a moment takes out a small white pill. Then puts it back and gets out of the car, it's time to stop being a wuss. He keeps the mantra up in his head, it's time to stop being so afraid.

The back right wheel of the grocery cart sticks every so often, makes an echoing noise, that is just enough to keep Stiles in the right mindset, on auto pilot he grabs bread, milk, eggs, and the other staples that they were running low on, and then gets the more specialty items and things that he's planned for dinner for the next week. 

He's fine, he's almost made it to the checkout line, of the only open lane, where Danny and Jackson stand. There is a cart between them, full of chips, soda, and frozen pizza boxes. Danny is reaching on of the gossip rags that line the shelf, and Jackson is flipping lazily through a Cosmo. In front of them there is a little old lady with bags of cat food and kitty litter, and stacks of cans of tuna and chicken noodle soup.

Stiles eases into line behind them, and starts to pick at his cuticles, they won't notice him if he doesn't make sound. It works for a minute until Stiles picks to much and draws blood, the hissing noise he makes doesn't help matters. They turn in unison and their eyes widen comically, Stiles flushes and looks down. He's trying to contain the way he's breathing heavily, short panting breaths. 

“Stilinski!” Jackson exclaims surprised, and worried, “Where have you been?” He asks, setting the magazine back on the shelf. Stiles shrugs his answer still breathing fast, shallow breaths. 

 

“Whoah, Stiles breath!” He hears Danny exclaim as his fingers start to go numb and his legs feel slightly floaty. The steady _blip, blip, blip,_ of the barcode scanner has stopped, and Danny is slowly moving forward, “Just breath, on my count okay?” Danny asks, when he's in front of Stiles' cart, “breath one, two, three, exhale one, two, three,” the slow soothing counts had Stiles' breathing correctly in no time, the simple pattern making him comeback to his head all the faster. 

When his vision cleared he was met with an empty cart, and a sheepish Jackson. The pair led him out of the practically empty store, and put away his groceries. Jackson refuses to let him drive himself home, so he's stuck in the passenger seat while Danny drives and Jackson follows. 

“You don't have to talk about it, but I'm pretty sure me and Jackson both would listen if you ever wanted to.” Danny tells him, they're stopped at a red light, three streets away from the turnoff for Stiles' house. 

 

“Nothing to talk 'bout, just me being a fucking idiot again,” Is all Stiles says on the matter, his hands gripping at the door handle, knuckles white. 

“That's what my cousin used to say.” Danny tells him, “Then with the help of his family and friends he got over that eventually. I'm sure you will too one day.” Danny lets on that he knows more about what happened that he's comfortable with, but leaves the statement open ended enough that he could also be wrong. 

“I don't know what you are talking about,” Stiles grits out, he doesn't want to talk to anyone about how he failed as a person to listen to every basic instinct that was drilled into his head from the time he was ten years old.

“You will one day,” Danny's eyes are sad, large brown chocolate colored orbs, full of sadness and concern. 

“I'm fine, and I think it's time for you to go.” They're in his driveway now and Danny has stayed past his welcome. Stiles wants to put away the groceries and take a long hot shower. So that's what he does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I know it's been awhile, and while normally I don't make excuses, I feel the need to tonight. I've been working a lot, on top of that I'm trying to go back to school, and I moved out of my aunts house, and in with my brother. It's been a long month full of a lot of stress! But I'm going to try and update at least once a week, and make the updates longer. 
> 
> Now on to the subject of Beta's yes I'm still looking for one, and anyone who is interested please just e-mail me at shananagians@gmail.com


	4. Hear Me Now

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I feel like I should start this with an apology. When I started to write this I was living at my aunts house, then I moved in with my brother not to long after, and from there I thought I wouldn't be moving for a few months, but everything happened so fast and I found myself putting in my two weeks at work and packing boxes and saying syanara to the hill of WV, and hello to the plains of OH, and everything kinda got put on the back burner. So with that being said, I might not get to do regular updates, but I'm going to try to as much as possible.

Three weeks later....

====

It takes Stiles two weeks to muster up the courage to walk through the front doors of the school, knows that the entire student body must be able to smell the shame rolling off of him. Shame at the entire situation, shame at the way he ran the first time. No one says anything though, and the teachers don't know how to react to him, they look at him in mixtures of sympathy and pity, it makes Stiles want to tear his fucking hair out.

Scott follows him like a lost puppy, all eyes and small whines when Stiles won't acknowledge him when he asks his pressing questions, and anything that has to do with Stiles coming over to do homework. He just can't, can't leave the safety of his routine right now. If he does he'll lose his fucking mind in terror. He just needs time, that's what his dad says, that's what the books say, and that is what every tissue worthy Lifetime movie says.

Except for the part where it's been weeks, and Stiles is ready to stop feeling like there are bugs crawling under his skin, and he's ready to stop being afraid of his dad, and he really, really wants to stop waking up in the middle of the night biting off screams into his pillow. Stiles bought three different types of concealer to hide the dark circles and make it look like he isn't hiding anything all in the same breath. It doesn't work, his movements are too lethargic, and his quips aren't biting enough. 

The population at large gives him a wide berth in the halls, probably linked to the fact that the first time a person brushed against him he almost broke the kid's nose. Danny, though, Danny is the worst, he looks at Stiles with wide concerned eyes and pouts ever so obviously. It's the worst.

His dad on the other hand doesn't sleep at all anymore, or so it seems by the purple skin under his eyes and the half drank paper cups of coffee that sit on the counter tops and line the garbage can.

Stiles wishes his fuck-up didn't hurt his dad so much.

===== 

School is a device of pure torture, all the bodies placed in the small classrooms, with the teachers who could care less what is happening, just sitting there droning on and on about their chosen subject. It's all bullshit and makes Stiles want to bash his head on the wall, because where in real life is Stiles going to have to know about iambic pentameter? 

Just as Stiles is zoning out, a project is announced, and twenty books are passed out, there are two different ones, and each person in the class will be paired with someone who has a different book than the other. Stiles gets paired with Danny. The task is simple, read the books, relate it to the person you're paired with. 

It's a giant fucking mess is what it is.

Danny says that they can do it over Skype or iChat if that will make it easier on Stiles. Stiles just wants to get it over with. They'll read their books over the weekend, and on Monday they'll get together at Danny's house and work on the rest of their project. 

Stiles diligently reads through The Fault in our Stars and doesn't cry like a little baby in the end, but it's a damn near close call. Then just so he's prepared, he reads the book that Danny was assigned as well. It's a book aimed towards young adult females, and the dangers of judging a book by it's cover and all that jazz, but even though it's written clear on the pages what happened to Annabel Greene at that party, it still slaps Stiles in the face when it's revealed in the end. 

=== 

When Stiles dad makes it home a Little past six on Sunday night, Stiles is in the kitchen reading still, the sheriff watches his son leaning against the door frame, he can smell the casserole in the the oven, but it's nice to see his son so relaxed. The past month has been just as hard on the sheriff as it has been on his son, not to the same extent, but it breaks the sheriff's heart just a tiny bit more every time Stiles wakes up in the middle of the night screaming out and then the loud gut wrenching sobs that follow make the older man want to hunt down the each and every person who touched someone in a way that they didn't want.

The sheriff watches as Stiles reads a book with a baby pink hard back cover, watches had his eyes widen and soon start to brighten and fill with tears, his shoulders start to shake and soon the droplets that fill his eyes are running down his flushed cheeks.

“Stiles?” The sheriff whispers, and the teenagers head pops up, and he just looks so helpless. 

“I just want to stop feeling to terrible all the time.” He says, looking at the table. “I want to feel normal again, and I don't want it to take a year of bacon and really eclectic music to make it happen, and I don't want to have to deal with feeling like I have to be afraid of everyone anymore.”


	5. Have Faith in Me

Stiles manages to make it through school Monday, his eyes heavy, and skin sleep exhausted numb. The nightmares had been exceptionally bad that night, to the point that Stiles actually crawled in bed with his father. 

"You look like shit." Scott deadpans on the walk to chemistry. 

"Fuck off," Stiles snarls, "just stop. I'm aware of how shitty I look okay." Scott backs off slightly, hurt written on his feature. 

"You know what? Fuck you. I'm tired of all your over dramatized bull shit." Scott snarls back, eyes darkening. "First you disappear for three days, the you come to school and don't even make it past first mod, and the you disappear for two more weeks and now you won't even talk to me or hang out anymore. I'm done. Call me when the real Stiles comes back. " Scott walks away, shoulders tense and fingers flexing. 

Stiles just moves on, glad he doesn't know how to feel anymore. That day drags on slower than normal, Stiles sits alone at lunch in the back corner. He doesn't even eat, just picks at the plate, until the bell rings. English class is split into pairs, and they're role to each write ten questions based on their books. Four yes or no questions, and six essay, or short answer questions. 

Stiles finishes his in six minutes, not even giving a shit about the project. 

"You still wanna work on this tonight? Or would you prefer tomorrow?" Danny asks him, towards the end if the class. 

"I just want to get this over with." Stiles sounds depressed even to his own ears. He sounds numb and like a shell of the person he used to be. He hates it. 

"Okay, Jackson gave me a ride to school today, so withe to can catch a ride home with him, or I can ride with you back to my house. It's up to you." Danny just shrugs, like it isn't the most important decision Stiles had made all week. 

"I'll just give you a ride. Just don't fuck with my radio." Danny nods, just going with the flow. The bell rings and Stiles hides in the bathroom through history. He just feels so overwhelmed. 

Somehow he makes it through economics, but barely. He's so tired and feels like a live wire ready to explode out of his skin. 

Danny is already at Stiles jeep when he makes it to the parking lot, he stumbles over a pebble and manages to make it into the drivers seat in the same breath. Danny sits on the edge of his seat, close to the door, and looks out the window the whole time. He give half hearted directions to his house, and doesn't reach for the radio once. Stiles just sits there, trying to ignore the light turning in his stomach. Nerves. 

Danny leads Stiles to the kitchen, and lets him pick the seat that he's comfortable in. Then hands him an unopened can of Coke. Stiles wants to throw up a little. Instead he throws his book on the table. Stiles runs through his questions fairly easily. Just the standard family member or personal cancer reference questions. 

Stiles clams up when it comes to Danny's first question. It's so odd to be in the batch, considering what the book is actually about. 

"Ever known anyone who has an eating disorder before?" He asks, calm and steady. 

"My cousin June had one, she's about ten years older than me. I was to young to realize what what happening." Stiles tells him. They don't talk about the obvious once. 

The can is still unopened on the table when they wrap up the questions, Stiles can bring himself to touch it. 

"You know it's so stupid." Stiles says, staring at the table. "I shouldn't feel like this. Annabelle at least had the right to feel the way she did. The guy was her best friends boyfriend. I was the stupid one. I took that drink. I knew the fucking consequences. I did it anyways. I shouldn't feel like this." 

Danny is shaking his head, rubbing at the skin just under his tees hurt sleeve. "That's not how it works Stiles." Stiles opens his mouth to protest and Danny holds a hand up. 

"Wait lemme ask you this. Alison goes to a party, she's having fun. Dancing with this guy, he offers to get her a drink ad she watches him get it from where she's standing. But the guy manages to slip something in there anyways. Is it still her fault hen the inevitable happens?" Stiles shakes his head, it's not like Allison knew. And oh, wow. 

"I just wish it would go away." And stiles launches himself into Danny's open arms. He's a trembling and shaking mess, but Danny just holds him and makes soothing noises.


	6. Sail

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm actually going to blame the lateness of this on my ADD, because it's been done for quite awhile thanks to my lovely beta Craptain__Killjoy.
> 
> Also lets blame the fact that I forgot to take out some of those notes to my ADD, and enjoy.

Scott refuses to take Stiles’ calls, texts and Skype messages. They all remain unreplied to. It adds to Stiles’ already high anxiety, but somehow it makes him push harder and helps him focus. If he can focus on all the things that make him uneasy, maybe things will start to get better-maybe he can stop feeling down. Which is when things start to make another turn for the worse.

The nausea starts late one night after he makes an experimental recipe involving capers and sardines, so he's not too worried about the gut turning unease--it's the food that's all. It's all fine until the next day in English. The scent of baby powder was filling the room. It's cloying and too strong, like the perfume that all the girls wore in junior high. It came in a clear bottle with a rounded baby pink lid and had a counterpart that smelled like cotton candy with a baby blue lid.

The nausea hits hard and fast and Stiles is flying out of his seat, barely making it to the bathroom, before the sudden burn in the back of his mouth gets worse and his small lunch is making its comeback. Five minutes later and he's walking back to class as good as new, stomach feeling just a tad bit empty.

Danny and Jackson shoot him concerned looks but he waves them off, after all he's fine now. The teacher gives him an unimpressed glare and the rest of the class looks at him like he's about to explode. Stiles feels a little shaky and a little light headed, but then again he did just puke up his lunch so it's to be expected. The lesson continues and Stiles does his best to take notes, ‘but he’s having even more trouble concentrating now.

The school day ends and Stiles heads to his jeep, slightly dizzy and still lightheaded. He just needs to eat something and he’ll feel better. As Stiles is leaving he stumbles into Scott, but Scott just shakes his head and walks off. He finds it funny how Scott was supposed to be his best friend but now won't even talk to Stiles anymore, even after all the bullshit that Stiles helped him through with his parents divorce. Scott couldn't even be bothered to stick around and wait for Stiles to feel comfortable enough to talk about what had happened..

“Hey Stilinski!” Stiles hears from a few yards behind him. He turns sharply and cracks his neck in the process. It's Jackson and Danny. They’re standing by Jackson's Porsche. “Wanna get some pizza with us?” Stiles shrugs, because why not? “Cool follow me!” Jackson yells back, and the duo duck into the ridiculously expensive car.

They creep out of the parking lot and Stiles follows them to the local pizza parlor which looks like it should be featured on Diners, Drive-ins, and Dives. Stiles parks three spaces away from Jackson and Danny and tries to calm his rolling stomach. He knew he shouldn't have eaten those gunky leftovers from last night, but they were so good.

The hostess points to a table in the corner for the trio to sit at, and takes their drink orders. Jackson and Danny order soda and Stiles orders a bottle of water. Before he would have ordered a soda right there with them, but now he's more cautious with his drinks.

“Did you hear about Greenberg?” Danny asks. Jackson starts laughing, already knowing, but Stiles shakes his head. “He got caught skinny dipping in the school pool, and then he fell and broke his wrist trying to make a run for it.”

“Greenberg is such a loon. What is coach going to do since he's out of commission?” Stiles asks, shredding a napkin and balling up the pieces.

“Well, he's taking this Bilinski guy off the bench,” Jackson huffs, taking a sip of his soda. Danny is grinning into his menu, eyes shining a happy brown.

“I don't that I can do that,” Stiles says, shredding the small napkin pieces. The waitress comes back with their pizza and a few plates.

“I think that you would be great,” Danny tells him, snagging a slice of pizza. Jackson nods, already taking a large bite.

“I can't even stand to sit on the couch beside my dad, how am I going to handle contact sports?” He tears a chunk of sausage off his pizza, then another, and another, until all the ingredients on the pizza are in separate piles. Then he starts to tear the crust.

“We can figure something out,” Jackson says. “You say you don't want this to run your life, so don't let it. Start putting your life back together.”

“I'm trying okay!” he snaps sharply before popping a scrap of crust into his mouth and chewing forcefully. The people in the diner turn and stare. Stiles’ face heats up slowly.

“Well, let us help you,” Jackson snaps back. “You don't have to shoulder all of this alone. McCall abandoned you and that sucks, but you have people who want to be there for you and you can't keep pushing them away. You are not Nathan Scott or Peyton Sawyer.”

“Seriously? ‘One Tree Hill’? You went there?” Stiles asks with an arched brow.

“What Stilinski? It's a good show!” Jackson's voice cracks at the end and he's blushing a little.

“I'm more of a ‘The O.C.’ kinda guy, sorry,” Stiles dead pans. “So, lets get together tomorrow to sharpen my skills up, eh?”

The duo break out into identical grins.


	7. Trouble

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for support group chatting and calling children names. 
> 
> And as always thanks to my lovely beta who scrutinized every detail that I'm to distracted to catch!

The heavy lacrosse gear feels like stepping into home. Stiles has missed the sweat scented gear and the sheer anticipation of the game. It just feels so different now -- instead of worrying about getting off the bench for the night he's worried about having to play, having someone tackle him, being crowded in by so many other bodies.

“You know you don't have to play if you don't want to.”

His emotions must be playing all over his face. Danny is standing in front of him in full gear as well.

“We just thought you would enjoy doing something from . . . before.

It's the sincerity in his voice that makes Stiles go out onto the field with Jackson to practice tossing the ball properly. By the end of the night, Jackson had corrected his wrist positioning and he’d actually gotten the ball into the net against Danny and Jackson on six separate occasions.

===

“You're in a good mood today.” His dad states when he walks into the house, the smell of warm apples and cinnamon permeates the air.

“I had fun today, didn't even think about bad things.” The sheriff smiles, eyes misting slightly.

“How could you tell anyways?” The sheriff smirks at the question, pointing to the almost burned out candle on the middle of the kitchen’s island.

“Because you only burn that candle when you're happy.” Stiles bats at his dad’s hands when he moves to ruffle the short fuzz along Stiles head.

 

“Scott still won't talk to me. I don't get it.” John sighs heavily as he sits across from Stiles. “I'm always there for him, even when we don't talk about what’s really wrong . . . why can't he do the same for me?”

Stiles closes the book in front of him. He's studied enough for one night.

“Son, there are two types of people in this world; people who can wait patiently for a person to come to them, and people who need to fix things even if help isn’t needed yet. Scott needs things to be fixed as soon as he happens upon them. He pushes and if it doesn't work the way he wants it to, he gets frustrated and gives up completely.”

Stiles fixes his father a look, smirking slightly.

“So basically Scott wants what he wants, when he wants it, and throws a tantrum if he doesn't get it?”

The sheriff snorts.

“Yes. Your best friend is three years old.”

Stiles makes cheeseburgers for dinner. His dad deserves a treat after all.

===

The pamphlets appear on his desk in the middle of the night. They're nondescript and talk about survivors and surviving. All of them have a location for group meetings and one-on-one counseling sessions.

Stiles almost regrets making those burgers for his dad now. But then again . . . he could give it a try. He just wants to get back to somewhat normal.

===

The local VFD is holding group meetings in their basement. The group is made up of five or six women and a lone man. In the back there are little paper cups for coffee and a tray of cookies.

Stiles slips into a seat and doesn't make eye contact with anyone.

When the meeting starts he just listens. Listens to the tale of the girl who was at a friends house when her friends brother came in during the middle of the night. Listens to the tale of the woman who had been married to a man for twenty years and had just taken it. The tale of the man who thought that he deserved it because that’s what he'd learned his entire life.

They're sobering tales and in retrospect, Stiles thinks that he has it the best. Then he thinks of the terrible dreams, the isolation he feels at school, and all the fucking flinching. He knows that his pain doesn’t get negated because someone else has a worse pain, but at the same time why does he get to be the traumatized one?

===

“I want pink milk!” Little Sarah yells as she stomps her feet. She's been yelling for the past five minutes and never in Stiles’ life has he wanted to cut a bitch so much. She's his little cousin that he’d stupidly agreed to watch. She's all of two and a half and thinks that the world revolves around her.

“I'm in the middle of making your macaroni and cheese, you'll have to wait,” Stiles snaps at her. He’d feel bad, but Sarah just takes it in stride.

“Give me my pink milk!” She squeals angrily, glaring at him from the doorway. Then the words come spilling out of her mouth, “Give me my pink milk now.”

It makes Stiles see red. He is not going to be bossed around by a toddler.

“Nope! No pink milk for you!” Stiles bites out, and barely refrains from calling her a twat. It's a bad habit he's picked up, calling people twat waffles or just a twat in general.

As Sarah’s angry screams fill the house, Stiles takes her Easy Mac from the microwave and drains the water from it. When he’s finished he plops an ice cube into the steaming noodles. As he waits for it to melt he thinks about finding the duct tape in the laundry room. Soon he’s adding the powdered cheese and setting Sarah into her seat at the table. The girl’s screams arise anew when he denies her strawberry milk once more and continue constantly for the next ten minutes, demanding her pink milk the entire time.

He's just glad that he has the radio propped up in the open window. He'd rather have his neighbors listen to All Time Low or Hollywood Undead for the next hour than Sarah throwing a tantrum. 

While she’s protesting the macaroni and cheese she requested in the first place, there’s a knock on the door. He leaves the screaming child to see who it is.

“So, when did you get a pet banshee?” Danny asks leaning against the door frame. He's got a smirk on his face and his eyes are twinkling with mirth.

“More like a pet demon,” Stiles mutters allowing the boy into the house. “I have never in my life wanted to smack a child like I do right now.” Danny laughs knowingly.

“I used to call my little sister a twat monkey until she started repeating it.” Danny tells him following the sound of ultimate birth control.

===

Later, after Sarah is gone and Stiles has repressed the image of a crying toddler out of his mind, he sits down on the couch with Danny to kill some zombies.

“So. I had my six week check up yesterday.” Stiles throws out, getting a headshot in. Danny looks at him for a second, then goes back to the game.

“And?” He asks softly, knifing at a close zombie.

“No STD's so far . . . and no baby.” He says the last part with a barely contained laugh.

“Jesus way to kill a serious moment.” Danny swats at his knee. Stiles laughs and starts to shoot some more.


	8. Cruise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks always to my wonderful beta that stayed up way too late looking this over last night! 
> 
> And thank you to all those who left comments that light up my day! 
> 
> Now, for those of you who pay attention to the chapter title you've probably notice that they are all song names, the names come from a playlist that I listen to when I write. If you want I can provide a complete list that is ever growing for you to reference! Just lemme know.

Danny is sitting in the back of one of his relatives trucks. He's on a towel and trying not to burst out laughing at the scowl on Stiles’ face. They'd just played an invigorating game of tag with his smaller cousins which is not what Stiles envisioned when he agreed to tag along to Danny's family function in place of Jackson. It's a sea of farmers. Granted they grow wine grapes, but still farmers.

“You did not say that there would be country music.” Stiles blurts out, crossing his arms. He's not really mad, he's just out of his carefully constructed comfort zone.

“Look, give it an hour and if you still aren't comfortable you can take my car and go home. I'm sure my cousin Derek will give me a ride back. Even if I have to make one of his kids walk,” Danny tells him, patting the towel that’s laying next to him invitingly.

“Fine, but I'm not going to start square dancing.” Stiles groans, then flops down and pillows his head on his hands. He catches Danny grin as a new song begins to play.

“Baby you a song, you make me wanna roll my windows down and cruise,” Danny warbles over the music. Stiles groans tries to push Danny out of the truck. “Down a back road blowin' stop signs through the middle, every little farm town with you, in this brand new Chevy with a lift kit.” The song is apparently the anthem of Danny's family because almost everyone is singing it. Stiles doesn't even like country music.

“Kill me. No, really. Put me out of my misery,” Stiles drones, rolling onto his stomach and hiding his head in the crook of his elbows. If he can't see it happening, it’s not there. Danny just laughs at him and with a sigh Stiles agrees to accompany him to the drink table. After making a show of shoving his feet back into his flip-flops, he follows Danny across the field.

There's a long picnic table full of red solo cups with large drink dispensers full of water, lemonade, and sweet tea, as well as a large covered bucket of sliced lemons. To the side there are two large coolers, one red and the other white. One is marked 'Ice' and the other has 'If you aren't 21 keep out!' written on it in thick black letters. There isn't any bottled water or soda in sight. Stiles watches as Danny fills a cup with ice and tea, the amber colored liquid swirling into the cup, then he squeezes three lemon slices into it. Stiles’ throat goes dry and suddenly all he can think about is how much he wanted that tequila sunrise, how much he wanted that thick tasting syrup and tequila mixture. In that moment he's back in the bar.

 

The flashing lights and bodies pressing close make Stiles feel like he's in a movie, everything’s going in slow motion. The lights flash and everyone moves in the intermission of light. Stiles is dancing with the man he'd met earlier. Their hips are pressed close and Stiles can feel moist puffs of air curl around the base of his neck and ear. Then it's gone, and before he knows it the night has shifted.

Stiles is staring sluggishly at the bottom of his empty plastic cup, the ice had long ago spilled out, and everything is blurring in and out of focus. He's dizzy, everything’s moving slow then fast, and he just wants to go to sleep. Hands grab at his sides and lift him away from the wall he's been using as a support. The breath is back on his neck and Stiles is so numb that he can't really feel his own teeth.

“Let's get out of here gorgeous,” the guy whispers. And oh . . . Oh! He knows that voice. Stiles follows (more like stumbles) along and finds himself being pressed against a cold brick wall. He doesn't even remember exiting the club. Hot breath curls over his face and soon hot, wet kisses are being pressed against his mouth. Stiles tries to get away, to push back, but he's so weak and everything is so numb that he can't.

“Wanted to fuck that tight ass of yours all night,” the guy growls in Stiles' ear. Before he can really move, his pants are around his ankles and a sharp pain filters through his numb body. Stiles starts to cry out and struggle, but it's all in vain. He’s left passed out in the alley less than fifteen minutes later.

Stiles comes out of the flashback violently, and before he can stop himself he's heaving into the grass off the side of the picnic table, choking out gut wrenching sobs. He can feel himself shaking and it makes him heave even more. Danny is left looking at his friend in shock, glass of tea turned upside down at his feet.

“Stiles, what’s wrong?” Danny asks calmly, walking towards him at a slow, even pace. “Are you in need of assistance?” he asks, coming to a halt right beside him. He kneels down beside the smaller boy and stops short when he reaches out for him.

“T-that night. I t-t-think. I-I . . . remembered s-something,” Stiles whimpers between sobs. “I don't want to remember anymore.” ‘The music has stopped and Danny’s family is starting to gather around them. “I want to go home. Please, I want my dad.” Stiles is shaking, and so is Danny, and neither of them can drive, his nerves are too frazzled.

“Okay, but I can't drive right now,” Danny tells him, holding out his shaking hands. Stiles gasps in ragged breaths, too fast to be considered normal breathing, but not quite hyperventilating. “Lets just go sit, until we're both in better shape,” Danny suggests. Stiles nods sluggishly, and they end up under a tree with three of Danny's cousins peering at them. They run off when Danny's aunt shoos them away to hand both of the boys a bottle of water.

“Derek said that he can drive you home. He'll have Boyd drive your car, and you two can ride with him and the twins.” His aunt is what you’d call a classic bombshell. She had long thick hair, big green eyes, and a soulful expression. “He said that he needs to get Erica to a doctors appointment anyway.” Stiles nods, and Danny looks at him questioningly.

“I just want my dad,” he says looking back at Danny. He wants his dad and he wants to sleep. Danny nods and helps the other boy up. They walk slowly but finally reach Derek's SUV, the one used for family outings. Derek points Stiles to the front seat (because it's the most spacious) while Danny gets in the back with Erica and Isaac.

Derek starts the car and Stiles feels himself loosen up at the thought of being one step closer to home. Then he just feels ashamed. He wants to get back to his old self but he can't even face a drink table without having a flashback. Then again, who knows, because it could be just what he needed.

“I'm so sorry Danny,” Stiles tells him as they hit the main road.

“Don't apologize.” comes the curt voice of Danny's cousin Derek. He's clutching the steering wheel of the car with white knuckles. “Sometimes shit that you can’t control happens. It’s nothing to be sorry about.”

The air turns tense and thick and then it clicks for Stiles. Derek is the cousin that Danny mentioned all those weeks ago after one of his panic attacks. The one that Danny said would be able to relate to him. Stiles pauses and looks out the window, watches the lines on the road and tries not to think. When he blinks he's at home.

“Thanks for the ride,” Stiles murmurs as he opens the door. He's about to get out when Derek stops him.

“Look, if you ever want to talk, get my number from Danny. It's not fun going it alone.” Stiles nods, and Danny looks at him soulfully.

“Why don't you come over later? We can eat greasy pizza while my dad's at work,” Stiles says, extending an olive branch, and Danny smiles so wide that it makes Stiles’ cheeks hurt. Then he's in his house and hugging his dad.


End file.
